We the Forgotten
by HumanShield
Summary: Prologue. "When they were coming to get me, you promised me that I could leave. I never trusted you, but the way you said it....I believed you. You promised and I believed you."
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it.............yet.

**Epic Long A/N (very optional): **So, you might have noticed this story disappeared for a while. Yeah, I have no idea what happened there. The Powers That Be seemed to think that my vacationing to the west coast was grounds for just...getting rid of my stories, all sneaky-like. So, of course I'm pretty nervous about reposting this since I have zero idea what happened...but my account is still up and they never said I did anything wrong and I just posted a one-shot that seems to be chillin' there, fine. So I thought I'd give this a try and pray that my stories' disappearance was a glitch or...whatever.

If you've read this already, don't feel the need to review or whatever all over again. Just put it back on alert. I know who you are. Reviews are fun but they're essentially unnecessary for the shit I'm trying to pull off in this story. Heh. I mean, of course unless you have questions. Then...ask away. I'm here, curious about what you're curious about.

As far as new chapters, I'm going to post a chapter of this every couple days or so. Maybe by the time I've caught it back up on I'll be done with Part 2. I've got four more chapters of Emmett to write and then I'll post them all. After that we can have a lovely sit-down and discuss how y'all feel about AlicePOV, who wants to stick around for the end and whatnot. Should be a good time.

Oh, and if you're new to this story.....ignore all that. Welcome.

Anyway, here we go.

(Again, if you're new to this story and epically confused....PM me or something. I love to rap with people. Maybe literally but probably not.)

* * *

**Prologue**

_As my body slammed into the hard chest of the man behind me, I felt the unfamiliar, startling discharge of the gun. Uncomfortable vibrations leapt through my fingers, strange heat pressed against the skin of my palm._

_The thing that was really difficult to wrap my head around was that my vision suddenly blurred until I could no longer see all the people around me, I could no longer see my captor stepping towards me._

_All I could see was the red of the blood as the bullet entered his chest._

_I dropped the weapon immediately, leaving myself completely vulnerable. I didn't care. I could feel the man behind me wrap his arm tightly around my waist, trying to pull me gently away. I resisted without meaning to._

_The chaos raging in my head began to fade as Edward fell to the floor, blood pouring from the wound in his shoulder. I had missed the heart. _

_My eyes met his and in that moment all I could hear was the sound of everything we were breaking in two._

*

I rested my back against the heavy metal door and tried to catch my breath. I could feel the vibrations in the walls as the relentless soldiers got closer to their target.

My eyes drifted across the room to the man currently looking me up and down.

I could feel his eyes settle on the trail of blood dripping from the gash in my head before moving to notice the way my bottom lip was already swelling, past all the cuts and bruises on my arms, down and finally resting where my thigh had been cut open.

He didn't seem worried about the fact that I was injured. He was simply checking for damages.

I had to admit he was the last person I thought I would be with at the end.

"Do you have it in you to finish this?" Edward asked, slow and careful.

My eyes narrowed at his words. I took a moment to look him over the way he had just done to me. There was not the faintest hint of a scratch on his flawless white skin.

There was a deep, unyielding pain in his eyes, just the same.

"Do you?" I spit back, looking at him in defiance.

"I always get the job done."

"That's right. Even when you don't mean to. You can't help it," I said, my face breaking into a harsh smile. I hadn't even known there was such a thing until now.

The pounding in the corridor got louder.

"They're getting closer." I whispered.

*

_The bag was swinging back and forth from the force of my punches. I moved with it and each time my fist would lash out it would connect solidly with the leather in front of me. My muscles began to ache, but I ignored the burning. Sweat started to build on my brow._

_Jacob Black walked in quietly. _

_I didn't see him enter, but I could feel his presence, approaching me slowly as if he was wary of something, of me._

_The thought of me making anyone nervous made me want to laugh. _

_I stopped swinging at the bag and stood, panting, waiting for him to say something._

_"I haven't seen much of you lately." His voice was soft, gentle._

_"Oh." I didn't want to talk. Not to him, not to anyone. If they had questions, I didn't want to know. I just wanted to be left alone._

_"Captain Whitlock says you never really talk about what happened to you in New York."_

_"You've been talking about me?" I looked at him slowly, turning to face him._

_My voice was quiet, emotionless. I wasn't sure how to feel about this piece of information, so I opted to feel nothing at all._

_"Well, he's the only person you've really said anything to since you've been back. How else am I supposed to know how you're doing?" _

_He sounded...hurt? _

_I wasn't sure why he would, but he almost sounded like he'd been betrayed._

_I didn't say anything, just let the silence get heavier and heavier, hoping it would eventually drive him from the room. I didn't mind the silence, myself. In fact, I preferred it to words._

_"Have you been over to see your father yet?" Jacob's eyebrows were raised and he was looking at me like he could see right through me. I felt a jolt at the mention of Phil. It wasn't pleasant. _

_In fact, it pissed me off._

_"Why would I?" I could hear how stubbornly uncooperative I sounded, even to my own ears. It was a valid question, though. Why _would_ I want to see him?_

_"Does he even know you're alive?" Jacob sounded a little annoyed. He had absolutely no right to be._

_"I don't really care what he knows. It's been five months of him sitting around, doing nothing to try to find me. Why should I be looking to make him feel better about that?" I snapped. _

_I surprised myself with the force of my own words. When was the last time I was angry? I couldn't really remember._

_"I don't want to talk to you when you're like this." The hurt in his face was apparent now. _

_If I had wanted to push him away, I was doing a pretty good job._

_Jacob turned around abruptly and began to walk out of the room. _

_Something inside me gave a little and I felt the sudden urge to keep him from leaving. I wanted something normal, something familiar. _

_Maybe it would help._

_"Wait. Jake." I said his name as softly as I could._

_He looked back at me, his face was very quiet. He raised his eyebrows slightly, waiting for me to say something. I hesitated._

_"I could use a sparring partner." I tried on my old smirk. It felt uncomfortable and strange on my face, more like a grimace._

_"Maybe some other time." His voice was cold and he was gone before he even turned and walked back out the door._

_I stood completely still, unmoving. A shudder ripped through my body suddenly. Sweat dripped down my chin, my neck, my chest. _

_I could taste salt._

*

"Bella." His voice pulled me away from my thoughts.

He sounded unlike himself, he sounded nervous. If he wanted some kind of reassurance that we were going to make it out of this one alive, he was looking to the wrong person.

I knew that we were going to die.

"What?"

"Are you okay?"

I paused for a moment, surprised at the question. I blinked back at him, searching his face for some reason why he would ask me that. Why, after everything, he was suddenly concerned at all.

Finally I shrugged at him. "I keep remembering the day I was rescued."

I watched as Edward shifted. It wasn't exactly an uncomfortable movement, but it was in reaction to my thoughts. He, of course, would remember that day too.

"What about it?"

"When they were coming to get me, you promised me that I could leave. I never trusted you, but the way you said it....I believed you. I believed you so completely that if someone had said that five years from that moment I would be sitting here about to _die _with you, I would have laughed at them. Because you promised and I believed you."

"Can we not talk about it?"

If it was possible for his face to become even more pale, it did in that moment. But he looked away before I could tell what he was thinking.

I desperately wanted to scream that no, we could not _not_ talk about it. Because this was it. The pounding was even closer now.

We didn't have much time left.

*

_"I can't believe you're really here."_

_"Me neither."_

_Phil looked at me gently, tears shining in his eyes. I could tell that he wanted to reach out and touch me, make sure I was really there, but he held himself back. _

_I wasn't sure why he did, but I was glad of it. _

_"I'm sorry....for everything that happened to you." He definitely sounded sorry. _

_Not that it mattered._

_"It wasn't your fault." I replied evenly, pleased at how steady my voice sounded. All I wanted to do was get out of there, get away from him. _

_But Jacob was right, Jasper was right. I had to see him, for the both of us._

_He was silent for several minutes, looking at me earnestly._

_Finally, "You're different." _

_Something about the way he said the word "different" made me feel like it was a bad thing. Like it was something he was afraid of. _

_What would he know of fear?_

_"Sorry." I apologized automatically, trying to sound as sorry as he had. _

_I was surprised when that came easily. I _was_ sorry._

_He shook his head and I saw something within him break. _

_I felt myself being pulled into his embrace, his arms closing around me tightly. I remained completely rigid, not allowing myself to relax. I didn't reach my arms around to hug him back. _

_I was sure he would notice._

_I heard his scratchy voice whispering into my hair. "Forgive me."_

_I didn't answer._

*

I was absent-mindedly clicking the safety of my gun on and off when I finally met Edward's eyes again.

It still took some measure of control for me to look at him without flinching. I had no idea what that meant.

"If you had known," I asked him suddenly, "would you have changed anything?"

Edward looked at me without surprise and then closed his eyes.

I leaned back, wondering if he would answer, as I focused on the banging of the door behind me.

There were so many things I wanted him to say.

_Yes, I would have changed everything. I wouldn't have been there that day. I wouldn't have tried to rescue you. I wouldn't have held you hostage for months. I wouldn't have hurt you so deeply. I wouldn't have let you shoot me._

So many things I didn't want him to say.

"I don't regret one thing." He replied evenly. My gaze was on him again.

He could have said all those things...but they would have been a lie.

After several moments of silence I heard his voice again, over the banging.

"Can I ask you something now?"

I looked at him. He took my silence as the affirmative.

"When you pulled that trigger, did you want to kill me?" Edward's voice was soft. He looked calm, like he was no longer afraid of the banging at the door.

I stared at him, finding it difficult to form a response.

The metal scraping against metal was louder now, the footsteps were closer.

They would be here soon to kill us, the last survivors, trying desperately to find a way out.

"When you brought me to that house, did you want to kill _me_?" I replied, meeting his eyes defiantly. _You succeeded_.

If he had been capable of blushing, I was sure color would have risen in his flawless cheeks. But he remained as impassive as ever when he replied, "I loved you."

"Okay." I surrendered.

I didn't want to get into it, not really, I just hadn't wanted to answer his question.

At the time it had been such a blur.

The elation of being rescued, the panic in his eyes hounding at me, and then there was his hand on mine, trying to convince me to stay. I had done the only thing I could think of after they had pressed the weapon into my hand.

I was less than five feet away from him. I was sure I could have hit him in the heart if I had wanted to. The fact that I didn't, I always attributed to the fact that I had never handled a gun before, never shot a person.

But then, Edward wasn't a person.

He was a vampire. Just like the rest of them.

"You never answered my question." His voice again.

"I don't want to answer your question, Edward." I heard my voice cut through his name, as if it was a curse.

"We're both going to die in a few minutes. What does it matter to you that I want to know?"

I sighed and looked down at the gun that I held in my right hand.

*

_Alice looked surprised when I stepped into her cell. _

_I hid the shock, the agony I felt when my eyes brushed over her pale, smooth skin. The dark eyes I had once found so emotionless, I now saw as they danced with a black fire. I could see her strength, her grace, and yet I thought only of _his_. _

_"Hi." I started, lamely._

_The small vampire was watching me warily, unsure of what I wanted, if I was here to hurt her. Honestly, I _should_ want to hurt her. _

_But I didn't._

_"Jasper isn't here." She said at last._

_I looked up at her with surprise. _

Of course.

_She would think I was here looking for Jasper, because he spent so much time in here. I had been very vocal about how much I hated it, how much it bothered me._

_"I came to see _you_." I cut her off, before she could say anything else. _

_I didn't want to think about Jasper right now._

_"Oh." Alice sounded slightly confused, but didn't say anything more for a moment. She sat lightly down on the bench at the far corner of the wall, leaving room for me if I wanted to sit beside her. _

_I remained standing, never moving._

_"I don't want you to take this the wrong way but, what are you doing here?" Alice asked finally, her voice suggested that she was still very nervous._

_"I don't really know," I answered truthfully, very quiet._

_Alice sat motionless, waiting for me to say more._

_"I've been back for five months now and I still feel like I don't belong here. And you're..." I hesitated. I couldn't say the word. _And you're a vampire. You're one of them._ I shuddered involuntarily._

_"What?" Alice asked, her voice gentle, filled with concern now._

_I looked up at her suddenly, fear coloring my voice. "I can't stop thinking about him."_

_Alice looked at me, her eyes widening. _

_She knew - everyone knew - what had happened to me. Jasper had obviously told her. There was no need to clarify which "him" I was talking about. _

_I should have been annoyed, angry even, but I was more relieved. _

_Relieved that I wouldn't have to explain to her in slow, laboring detail, why I would possibly come to her now._

_"I see." Alice's voice seemed to lose all emotion in that instant._

_"What does it mean?" I asked of her. I could hear the note of desperation in my voice, needing to know why. She probably wouldn't pick up on it._

_"It doesn't mean anything." Alice's voice was firm now, more confident, but still slightly shocked. "Those five months aren't just going to go away."_

_"No," I sighed. "I guess not."_

_We were quiet for a moment. _

_Then Alice began to shift uncomfortably._

_"Bella, did he ever..." She hesitated._

_"No." I snapped immediately, not wanting her to finish her sentence. It was the one question I knew everyone wanted to know the answer to. _

_No one but Jasper had had the courage to ask me before this moment._

_"He never touched me. Whenever he got close..." I paused and took a deep breath. "I made him bleed...over and over again."  
_

_"You never stopped fighting." There was something that sounded strangely like pride in Alice's voice.  
_

_"You're wrong." My voice was deathly quiet.  
_

_"What?" she looked confused._

_"Every time I resolved to take his life, a little piece of my humanity, a little piece of myself, died. It didn't matter that he wasn't human. I was trying to kill a _person_. And he would just stand there and let me..."_

_Alice looked at me with a mixture of surprise and absolute understanding. _

_No pity, just...grief. _

_She reached out softly towards me and for a moment I thought her fingers were going to brush against the back of my hand, hanging limply at my side. I don't know what I would have done when I felt the cold of her skin, but I almost wanted the contact. _

_She dropped her hand away before it got to me, as if she had thought better of touching me. _

_Part of me was relieved._

_"It's over, Bella. It's over now and you're still here. You're still alive." _

_Alice reminded me softly. We both knew that her words were comfort, just as we knew that it didn't matter._

_"I can't feel it." I looked at Alice, almost pleadingly. "Alive, I mean."_

_"Give yourself time to heal."_

_Silence encompassed us, pressing down on us from all sides. There was something else, something that was still unsaid. _

_I could see Alice waiting for me to say it, at the same time she was resolving that I was never going to._

_And in truth, I didn't want to. It wouldn't do any good to anyone. It would only make the hurt more real, more acute._

_"He told me he loved me. Every night."_

*

"I've been trying to figure it out." Once again his voice was the thing that pulled me back to the present.

I waited for him to continue. Eventually, he did.

"I've been trying to figure out why you didn't kill me when you found me in Volterra. Why you didn't let Jasper kill me. You shot me in that house and you meant to kill me or you didn't, but you never lifted a finger to hurt me after that."

His gaze was piercing, his eyes searching my own.

I felt what color was left drain from my face in an instant. I didn't speak - I couldn't speak - for several minutes as he watched me.

"I really wish you wouldn't try to figure it out." I finally made myself say. I looked away from him. I didn't want him to see the fear I was sure had suddenly etched itself across my features.

"Why?" he immediately inquired.

I could feel the curiosity that had blazed up in him suddenly. His voice was no longer resigned, it was hopeful. Not for our survival, for.....something else.

I looked up at him sharply, intending to crush the lightness of his question, intending to reassure him that all I felt for him was hate and revulsion. But the spark in his eyes hit me like a battering ram.

My breath hitched.

After several moments of silence he whispered, prompting, "Why, Bella? Why didn't you kill me?"

I could feel myself floundering, gasping for air silently, my head was spinning as if my lungs no longer wanted to work. Bile rose in my throat as I struggled to get a grasp on everything, on the situation, on the inevitable death that was coming for us.

I knew I was about to die, but Edward was the only thing I could think about.

"I don't know." I finally breathed, unable to tear my eyes from his face.

*

_"Does it bother you that I'm here?" Jasper's voice came from the darkness, his arm draped over my stomach. I didn't turn to face him, but I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck._

_"Why would it bother me?" I asked him solemnly. "You're my husband."_

_"Does that mean anything to you?" He replied. He sounded...different. I didn't know how to answer him so I remained silent._

_I couldn't tell him that when I thought about marriage all I thought about was Edward. _

_All I thought about was the blood on the carpet, on the glass, on my hands. _

_All I thought about was his face and the cello in the corner of my room. _

_All I thought about was that goddamn house._

_"Why won't you talk to me?" It was just a question. I couldn't hear any accusation in his words; he was being very careful. "It's been a year." He was just stating a fact._

_"What do you want to talk about?" I asked him finally, with a sigh. I just wanted to sleep. Couldn't he understand that?_

_"Whatever's on your mind." His voice was hopeful._

_What was on my mind?_

_Only him.  
_

_I didn't say anything. __I couldn't say anything. _

_After several minutes of silence he must have realized that._

_I thought he had fallen asleep when I heard his deep voice rumble behind me, "Why did you cut your hair, Bella?"_

_I didn't think he would ever get up the courage to ask. _

_I had a million answers. _

_It had become too heavy to carry; Phil liked my hair; you liked my hair; it reminded me of when Edward would run his fingers through it, right before I would attack him. _

_I had a million answers. _

_I didn't have an answer for him._

*

"They're getting cocky," I said, staring at the door as the hinges started to snap.

"They have a right to be. I counted at least fifty of them for the two of us."

"I counted fifty three," I corrected him automatically. "Still doesn't mean they have a right to be so confident."

He cocked an eyebrow, there was a trace of amusement on his face at the childish indignation of my words.

A spark ignited near the door and I saw a metal drill starting to tear away at the thick steel frame. We had two minutes, tops.

When I glanced back to Edward he was looking at the drill, then back at me pointedly. I shrugged.

It was odd. I had really thought I would have nothing to say to him now that it was the end. I thought the anger and resentment would be enough to keep me quiet.

I had to lean back against the wall to keep myself steady. The pain of my injuries was only just now starting to hit home.

"Are you worried what's going to happen to them all when we're gone?"

He looked at me with an odd expression, almost pained. He looked like he wanted to tell me something, then thought better of it.

Finally, "They'll be fine," Edward reassured me.

It was a lie.

"I guess you're right," I allowed him.

I knew in that instant that they were dead.

All of them. Emmett, Jasper, Alice.

Edward and I were the last remaining and we were moments away.

"They'll probably get more done without us there to mess everything up." I smirked at him, letting the lie slide, letting him believe that I would die with some hope.

Why I was doing that for him, I didn't want to examine too closely.

A thought suddenly occurred to Edward and his eyebrows furrowed. "You were supposed to tell them the truth, if I didn't come back."

"I'm not coming back either." I pointed out, even though we both knew that was what he had just implied.

I felt like I needed to say it out loud.

"I think they're smart enough to know they shouldn't wait for you and me. They'll find someone else, someone who will find these people again. Find out what they've been doing. Someday."

"I know."

The door flew back into the room and I could just make out the silhouettes of the large group of vampire soldiers, low and crouching, ready to attack.

"Bella?"

"Yeah, Edward?"

"I always knew it would end with you and me."

"Me, too."

* * *


	2. Part 1: Torture

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of "Twilight". True story.

**A/N:** Er...hey four reviewers...and bunches of alerters. Welcome back. I don't have much to say right now so just...this is chapter 1. BellaPOV. It's, you know, the same as it's always been. Good times.

* * *

**I. Torture**

I could hear the music from the other side of the curtain and felt a pang deep in my chest.

I longed to be out there.

I fingered the strings of my cello, following the music with the practiced ease of one who had spent months and months memorizing each note of the movement.

Every intonation, every swell and rise of the piece ached to be played.

I let my bow slide delicately an inch above the instrument, never coming into contact with it, never making the beautiful, mournful sound it was begging to voice.

Frustrated with my own ridiculous melancholy, I let my hand drop away, resisting the temptation to play along with the rest of the orchestra that was hidden from my view.

I had made the choice not to be out there tonight, and nothing - not my passion for the music, for the performance, for the symphony that I had lovingly poured my heart into writing - would change my mind.

I found my anger again.

I hated the fact that _they_ were listening to it. That _they_ were here to appreciate it. It killed me a little to know there was nothing I could do about it, to know that I would have to suffer through tonight, completely helpless.

But it was just tonight.

The thought consoled me.

Then _they_ would go back where _they_ came from and I would go out onto that stage tomorrow and play each rise and fall of the music myself, with my own hands.

As long as I could survive tonight.

I closed my eyes, leaning back into my chair, my instrument resting complacently against my thigh, my bow loosely entwined in my fingers.

I listened and I waited.

Not much longer now, I knew. Still, every note seemed to stretch out forever in the final part of the movement.

The sadness of each voice was vastly different than the sounds of triumph that usually colored an ending.

I knew that the audience would be surprised by the abruptness of the end, that they wouldn't see it coming. Even though themes from the first part wound through the harmony seamlessly, I knew some people would recognize the final notes and feel bereft in some way.

There would be those that appreciated it, those that would understand, that had also felt music like mine inside of them even if they hadn't the talent or inclination to express it.

Those were the people I wrote it for, they were the people I loved.

I heard the last note ring out, a cry of pain, of anguish.

Final.

There was a pause that was perhaps longer than usual, as the people watching took a moment to recover, to get a handle on their emotions, or else to comprehend that the concert was over.

And then the automatic, tumultuous applause.

It made me grimace.

I derived no pleasure from hearing people appreciate my work in the thick confusion of a crowd. The majority of them had no idea what they were clapping about, only that they were supposed to applaud at the end.

Because it was polite.

What I lived for was afterwards.

People would often congratulate me, bring me flowers if I played well. This was the first time I had allowed one of my compositions to be used in a performance, it was the first composition that was worthy of being heard.

Still, I imagined that it would be very much the same.

People would commend me blankly for delivering such an original and precise array of notes, of being so young to accomplish such a feat.

That was all they could see.

What I was eager for was to meet the people who said little, or nothing.

I wanted to see in their eyes that they had heard what I had put down on those hundreds and hundreds of pages. That I had bared my soul to them and that they appreciated my bravery, and the art with which I could deliver it. That I had the strength to make my pain beautiful.

I wouldn't meet those people tonight.

A flash of rage surged through me again.

I hated not being able to stand with the rest of the orchestra.

I hated not being able to see those people who inspired me.

I hated not being able to find my mother in the crowd, the person whose story my music told, running in tandem with my own.

Everything, all of it, all that I could not have was _their_ fault.

"Bella."

I felt a hand on my shoulder, breaking me suddenly away from my thoughts.

I looked up, slightly startled, into the face of Jacob Black.

He smiled at me warmly and all my feelings of rage and resentment immediately flitted from my body.

His dark eyes sparkled brilliantly, filled with excitement and fervor, his copper cheeks were slightly flushed from the bright lights of the stage he had just exited. His violin was still clutched tightly in his left hand. He hadn't had the opportunity yet to put it down. He must have come directly over to me.

That thought caused the corners of my mouth to turn up slightly.

After a brief pause, I got my bearings and stood up, turning to face him.

"It seemed to go well," I said, trying to sound pleased. My voice was slightly clipped as I said the words, though, unable to completely dispel my annoyance.

His smiling face remained undeterred. He ignored my short tone, recognizing it for what it was, and took the roundabout praise instead.

"I'm so glad you think so. I mean, it was a bit strange playing without you up front but..." he trailed off as if he didn't need to continue, as if I should know what he had been about to say.

I looked at him, my eyebrows lifting slightly.

"But?"

"It's...your piece. It's hard to mess up."

He shrugged, seeming unable to put into words what exactly my music was.

"It's really something else, Bells," he finished somewhat lamely.

"Right, Jake. Thanks a lot." I rolled my eyes, but I was still smiling very slightly.

Jacob understood my music. He was one of the people that I loved, the people that heard what I heard. He also happened to be my best friend. I found it extraordinarily difficult to remain annoyed with him for any extended amount of time.

"So, are you going to come out and mingle with your adoring fans? Or are you going to stay here all night shooting death-glares at the back of the curtain?" He laughed, slinging his arm around my shoulders and gently steering me towards the exit.

I walked forward for a few steps, then shrugged away from him.

"I dunno, Jake. I _really_ don't want to go out there tonight."

He sighed.

He knew I wasn't the biggest fan of crowds, and he knew how reluctant I was to socialize in any way, but he also knew that despite both those things I had chosen to perform my music, that I wanted it to be heard and I longed for the recognition I would see on the faces of those who heard it.

He wasn't wrong.

"Look." He said, his voice soft and low. "You probably won't even see..._them_. I mean, they probably already left. No big deal. You should really be out there enjoying this."

I glared at him for a moment. It was tempting.

Finally, "I'll go out and meet the audience tomorrow and Saturday. There's no reason it has to be tonight," I told him, keeping my voice as devoid of emotion as I could.

"I can wait," I added softly.

Jacob looked at me imperiously for several seconds, and then shrugged.

"Suit yourself," he said, his face breaking out into a smile again, a light of mischief dancing behind his brown eyes. "But you only get one first performance."

He grinned at me wickedly, as if he could hear my stomach clench uncomfortably at his words.

He was right.

About to concede defeat and follow him outside to the lobby, the stage door opened on my right and my Professor - the man who had conducted the orchestra through my piece - strode towards me.

I froze.

Behind him were five looming, dark figures.

They were silent as they followed him onto the stage, their faces turned towards me politely. Pale faces that were far too smooth, eyes too dark, limbs too graceful, too sure, too strong and effortless.

Hiding backstage - refusing to play - had all been for nothing. 

_They_ had found me anyway.

Professor Kain - grey haired, balding, short and strict-looking - stopped right in front of me.

His face was blank, but in his eyes I could see the rare sparkle of approval that he bestowed on few.

The concert - _my_ concert - had gone well; had made him proud.

I could feel nothing of the warmth that should have overtaken me in that moment. The past eight months, struggling to earn his recognition, and in the very moment I had earned it, I was completely numb.

Rendered mute and unfeeling by the five shadows at his back.

"Mr. President, may I present to you the composer, Ms. Isabella Swan," Kain's firm, confident voice rang out.

He had turned his body slightly, motioning for one of the men behind him to step forward, so that he could greet me in person.

Of course I had known that the President was coming to my opening performance. I had received the letter not a day after I had been told I would be allowed to play my piece with the New York Philharmonic.

Most would have been excited, elated, even honored by such news. Indeed, most of my closest friends were. Even Kain, my stern professor with the glaring eyes, had offered me his congratulations.

I wasn't excited.

In fact, the President was the reason I hadn't allowed myself to play in the performance tonight.

The President of the United States was a vampire.

I felt myself take an automatic step back as the President, Carlisle Cullen, stepped towards me.

His eyes, so dark and lifeless, seemed crinkled around the edges in what my mind interpreted as delight. Or amusement. His mouth was turned up in a cordial smile that I was sure was meant to put me at ease.

It didn't work.

I was sure I would have staggered backwards if I had been able to move. But now I was rooted to the floor, unable to look away, the horror building within me at being so close to his pale, cold skin.

I felt Jacob's arm on me, steadying me, and I looked into his eyes quickly. I couldn't read the expression there.

It was encouraging, but also firm and cold. His lips were a tight, thin line. His jaw was set with determination. He gave me the slightest of nods. I had no idea what it meant, but I gathered my strength at the sight of it just the same.

I slowly turned to face Cullen again.

When my eyes met his, he smiled a little wider. His canines were sharp and pointed, but no larger than a normal person's. I wouldn't have noticed them if I hadn't been looking.

He leaned towards me again eagerly. I felt my entire body go rigid, my muscles screaming, begging me to run. I ignored them with some effort and stood completely still, tensed, waiting for him to speak.

"Ms. Swan. I simply couldn't leave without congratulating you on your work. It was remarkable." He said politely, opening his arms with praise.

I blinked back at him for several moments, unable to summon any words of thanks to my lips. Finally I managed to duck my head once in a gesture I hoped he would be able to read as gratitude.

Even if it was fake.

"I am not a connoisseur of fine music myself, although I delight in taking any opportunity to further my expertise. That was why I came tonight." He paused for a moment, reading my face, and then continued, "My son, Edward, has much more of an ear for music than I. I daresay he enjoyed it all the more. Didn't you, Edward?"

I followed his gaze when it turned to a somber young man standing at his side.

Without emotion I recognized his features as uncommonly handsome and oddly serene. His hair was deep blonde, almost bronze. There was a softness around his mouth, in the creases of his forehead, in the way he held his shoulders, that spoke of great peace, of contentedness. In his body, in his life, in himself.

_Unnatural_.

His eyes gave me pause, however.

When they locked with mine I felt an uncomfortable jolt in my stomach which disrupted my apathy completely.

The dark eyes of vampires, usually so flat and cold - even through their emotions - were not the same on him. In them was a fire, a pain, an intense amount of feeling that I had never seen on any face; human or otherwise. With no minor amount of discomfort I realized at once the source of the smoldering in his eyes. He had heard my music.

Heard it in the way that few ever could. He heard it with all the passion that I had written it with. He had felt it, felt me within it, and he was looking at me in the way I had longed for someone to look at me one day: with an understanding that went deeper than affection.

He _knew_ me.

My mind immediately rejected the idea; shut down to protect myself from it.

I wanted to lash out at him with a sudden unyielding fury and passion. 

_How dare he?_

I could feel my hands balling into fists as I stared back at him. I wondered idly if my abrupt anger had registered in my eyes, if he could see it.

I realized then that it wasn't an unnatural calm I had seen before in every line of his body.

It wasn't contentedness or serenity or happiness or softness.

It was _control_.

Every single part of him was screaming out in pain, was under some incredible duress, and yet he controlled it more completely, more wholly than any human could have possibly been capable of.

I refused to let myself wonder why.

Barely three seconds had passed since President Cullen had turned to Edward. He was still waiting for an answer.

His eyes never left mine as he answered in a clear, smooth voice, "Yes."

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he held his tongue.

I thought his eyes flickered to Jacob for a brief second - to the hand he still had wrapped firmly around my bicep - but I couldn't remember a moment where his gaze wasn't locked on me, so I was sure I must have imagined it.

President Cullen grimaced slightly, as if Edward's monosyllabic answer hadn't expressed enough appreciation, or if it had been rude in some way.

It took me a moment to recognize that he might have been right.

Without waiting for the conversation to become stilted, the President smiled at me again. "I certainly look forward to hearing more from you, Ms. Swan."

Again, I remained silent.

"Well, I think I've taken up enough of you time. And I know my Head of Security here," he motioned to a large, muscular vampire on his right, "would feel a lot better if I got out of public."

Then he laughed, as if something he said was amusing.

I supposed it _was_ slightly ironic. To think that a vampire would ever need protection.

I didn't know exactly how vulnerable they were, only that they were very near indestructible. The only vampires I had ever heard of being killed were those that had been executed. And even then it was only by other vampires.

_Frightening._

I felt my face pale slightly as Cullen turned to shake Professor Kain's hand once more.

They exchanged cordial goodbyes and then, unexpectedly, the entire company swept out of the room quickly and gracefully.

Edward didn't look at me again.

* * *


End file.
